


When A Good Man Goes To War

by StoryTimeTheCreed



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed - Freeform, Gen, Other, Rescue Missions, love in danger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryTimeTheCreed/pseuds/StoryTimeTheCreed
Summary: Yes, I wrote this because I love the idea of Altair coming to the rescue, but I mainly wrote this because I love Altair's bitchslap.
Relationships: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Reader, Malik Al-Sayf & Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Kudos: 38





	When A Good Man Goes To War

The sun shone over Masyaf, but a storm brewed within it’s walls. Footsteps thundered down the hall, rolling in like dark clouds to the study, and he could barely raise his head to acknowledge his vistor when Malik ran in. Eyes wildly searched the room until they found his, and Malik raced up to the desk.

“Malik, what in hell-?”

Altair rose from his seat and met his friend halfway. Taking his arm and helping him over to the chair, Malik beat off his advances and gulped down air. “It’s (Y/N).”

Ice flooded his veins, and he growled out one word. “Where?” 

Abbas had followers when he’d taken Masyaf, and his leaving gave rise to his second in command, Mustafa. This man now walked around the room, admiring (Y/N) tied up in a chair. Her hands were bound behind her, her feet tied to the chair legs, and her hood was lowered to reveal cloth stuffed in her mouth and tied behind her head. Altair’s fear lowered. Not a mark on her. 

Mustafa would continue to keep her in such condition if he wanted to live.

His hand hovered over her face, and Altair felt Malik tense beside him. Mustafa’s fingers danced over her skin, and she recoiled at his touch. “Keep your hands to yourself!” Altair leapt from their hiding place and strode into the room. His sudden appearance made the group flinch. Once composed, those with weapons grabbed them. Nine in total, not including Mustafa and (Y/N). The odds of winning the fight were good. The odds she would get out of it unharmed, not so.

“Masyaf’s favorite son.” Mustafa growled, and drew his hand back. When he turned to face him, hatred burned deep in his eyes. Altair had known few who’d participated during Abbas’s uprising remained, but he’d never thought they’d do anything like this. 

"Mustafa, you’re looking well.” His words were controlled as each brought him a step closer to them. If he could bring Mustafa closer to him, then he could attack; but the man wouldn’t leave (Y/N)’s side. “Whatever it is you want, this is not the way to do it.” Altair raised his hands, taking another step, hopeful that violence would not be needed. He’d known Mustafa a cruel and cowardly man who had gotten kicked out of the Brotherhood before he could become a novice. Apparently he enjoyed cutting too much and was caught spilling the blood of the innocent for entertainment. Abbas’s best friend, everyone needed someone to like them Altair supposed, but never in his life would he have thought he would do something this stupid.

The man produced a dagger and brought it to her neck. Altair stopped, and kept his hands up. “Come on, Mustafa. She has nothing to do with this. It’s me you want. Have me switch places with her. Wouldn’t that be the best revenge? Cutting into the Eagle of Masyaf?”

“This was a long time coming, Altair. Don’t worry. Wouldn’t want this to end quickly.” The pressure behind the knife grew, and she kept her neck taunt. Beads of blood dripped down her skin. No sound escaped her, and Altair knew she was doing that for his benefit.

“I’ll cut you open where you stand!” Altair roared, anger flashing hot within him. Several men who’d been circling him had now disappeared, but Mustafa was too taken by this entertainment to notice. Anger. That’s what he wanted. He wanted Altair to react.

“Then it seems we’re at an impasse.”

“What do you want.”

“I want you hidden blade.”

"Remove your dagger first.”

“I’m a man of my word, Great Master Assassin.” Mustafa released the pressure from her neck and waited. Sighing, Altair removed his bracer and slid it across the room where it landed at (Y/N)’s feet. (Y/N) began thrashing in her chair, and Altair kept a stoney expression. The number of men in the room was dwindling, and his chances were increasing. Patience.

“You have my blade, now release her. Not a hair out of place!” 

“That wasn’t our agreement.” Mustafa growled. Grabbing her head, he plucked a hair. “This will be the hair I leave safe.”

“I’m going to kill you, boy!” Altair roared and took another step, and then the dagger was back.

“I’m a boy as much as you’re a man!” Mustafa roared in return. “Didn’t you think there would be those that opposed you? That didn’t bend to the will of the Great Altair? Had it ever occurred to you that maybe the world need not your thrifling? That our order was fine!? I am not a boy!” Altair had struck a nerve. Good.

If Mustafa wanted anger, then he had it. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to rile. Puffing himself up, Altair opened his arms and beckoned with one hand.“I was going to call you a little bitch, so consider yourself lucky I controlled myself!”

Mustafa aimed the dagger at him and ran screaming, “You’re without back up! Without a weapon! What can you do? What do you have?!”

The slice of metal in the air. Altair stepped back, the dagger landing where his chest had been. His speed not taken into account, Mustafa stumbled forward with the momentum of the stab. Winding his arm as far back as his joint would allow, Altair flung his hand forward. The sound of his palm connecting with the man’s face sounded like an explosion in the room. The motion was so swift that many could have missed it, but the stumbling of the dazed Mustafa could not be ignored. Now with his hand at an angle, Altair whipped it back to finish the job. Throwing the whole of his body into the action. Mustafa spun and hit the ground with a dull thud. Motionless save for his slack jaw.

Malik ran to join the room, the other men having been taken care of, and he tossed Altair his hidden blade as he worked to unbind (Y/N)’s feet. Altair secured it and cut (Y/N) free of her bindings. A quick slice through the ropes and with the cloth. 

Taking her into his arms, Altair crumpled against her, the emotions he’d suppressed weighing on him. Cooing sweet things into her ear, he buried his face into her hair and memorized her scent with eyes closed. 

“I knew you’d come.” Her cry was small and unmistakeable against his chest, and he nodded, holding her tighter. 

“Always.” He vowed.


End file.
